


Drunk Shopping

by WrenAndPoppy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Andraste Statue, Banter, Black Emporium, Drunken Shenanigans, Masturbation, Other, am I not the first one to write this?, how the fuck do i even tag this, there's already a tag for the Andraste statue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenAndPoppy/pseuds/WrenAndPoppy
Summary: Against his better judgement, Hawke lets Isabella drag him to the Black Emporium for some heavily boozed-up window shopping.  What he finds is a risque statue of Andraste that probably wouldn’t turn him on quite as much if he was sober.Warnings: Slightly-public masturbation, sacrilege, implied Hawke/Anders, brief mentions of kinky crossdressing.





	Drunk Shopping

“WELLLLLLLLLLLLLCOOOOOOOOOO – M – E.  TO THE BLLLLLLLLLLL–”

Hawke cursed under his breath at the ringing voice as he stumbled down the creaky walkway towards the Black Emporium.  He was too drunk for someone to be shouting like that.  Isabela counted silently on her fingers as she followed him.

“What are you counting?” Hawke hissed, rubbing a hand over his ear.

“Shh.”  Isabela examined the craggy mess of rafters thoughtfully.  “Number of climaxes I could have given a girl before this guy finishes what he’s saying.”

“ –LLLLLLLLLACK.  EM.  POR.  I.  UM.”

Isabela held up four fingers proudly.  Hawke raised a skeptical eyebrow and sighed before stumbling forward into the dark, dank store.  The uneven floorboards creaked under his drunk footsteps as Hawke wandered past potions and relics and animal parts that he had never seen before.  

Something pale and delicate caught his gaze, and Hawke grinned.

“Hey.  Hey.  Isabela.”  He picked up a piece of clothing and held it up.  He could see her sly grin through the lacy gaps in the ornately crafted smallclothes.

“Oooh,” Isabela purred.  “For you or for Anders?  No, wait, don’t tell me.  The uncertainty is delicious.”

Hawke’s face went hot and he lowered the scandalous garment.  “For _you!_ ”

“I don’t usually say this, but I think Anders would wear it better.”

Hawke froze.  Second by second, his drunk brain caught up to Isabela’s words.  His gaze dropped to the lacy smallclothes.

… They _did_ look like Anders’ size.  They would hug his hips perfectly, though there was no way that skimpy lace would contain his fully erect –

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH,” interrupted the Antiquarian in a long grating drag.  “I SSSSSSSSSSEE YOU FAVOR.  THE SMALLCLOTHES.  OF UNNNNNNNNNNNNNECESSARY BONE IGNITING.”

Hawke dropped the smallclothes like they had bitten him.  They fell onto an invisible nug, which scampered away squeaking as it trailed the naughty piece of fabric.

“Hawke!”

Isabela’s voice was an excited hiss.   Hawke winced and wobbled over to where she stood.

“Look!”  Isabela held up two small pieces of colorful clothing and wore a huge grin.  “Socks!”

Hawke huffed.  “Now I _know_ you’re drunk.”

“Oh whatever, like you don’t enjoy having warm toes.”

“… Sure.”  Hawke gestured.  “I’ll be over there, looking at something interesting.”

Isabela scowled, and Hawke smiled before striding away.

Rows and rows of potions lined a creaky shelf.  Hawke’s gazed passed over them in tipsy interest as he strolled past.  He flinched when he saw the painted words  _“Discount Mystery Potions”_ hanging above the shelf.  He quickened his steps until something made him stop.

Between the crates and the shelves and the strange murky vials stood a life-sized marble statue of Andraste.  Hawke stopped in his tracks, his heart suddenly pounding.  A cloth was wrapped around her full hips, clutched in place by her stone hand, but from the waist up she was very unabashedly _bare._

Hawke swallowed, a drunk flush rising to his cheeks.  “Whoa.”  

The sculptor who crafted this piece had been _talented._ Andraste’s form was so subtle and lifelike as to almost be believable, a raw human form neither perfect nor exaggerated.  The Black Emporium was not a well-lit space, but a nearby cluster of paper lamps lit her in a soft, buttery glow.  Hawke’s booze-addled mind could almost believe that if he reached out to caress her, she would have the warmth of a bare human body under his hands.

“H-hey,” Hawke called, not taking his eyes off the statue.  “Izzy, come look at this!”

A loud snore from the sock box informed Hawke that Isabela had passed out.

Hawke swallowed.  A mix of seven hard liquors was humming in his veins, warm and tingling.   _No one would know,_ the seven hard liquors whispered.   _Seriously, no one would know,_ added his half-hard dick.  Hawke’s breath was short before he realized it.  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder.  The Antiquarian was silent and facing away, his fossilized form as inert as ever.

… Andraste’s stone form looked silk-smooth, from the proud and loving smile on her beautiful lips to the round nubs of her nipples to her soft hips…

“This is _definitely_ a sin,” Hawke mumbled drunkenly as he fumbled with his own pants.  He slipped a hand inside and muffled a moan.  So much for “half hard.”  His cock was stiff and leaking, and it jumped in his hand when he squeezed it.    Hawke panted and dragged his eyes thirstily over the statue of Andraste as he slipped his flushed cock out of his pants and gave it a rushed stroke.

There was something filthy about the fact that the statue kept smiling.

“Nnnh–”  Hawke chewed his lip as he jerked himself off, his heart hammering.  Andraste seemed to look back at him, her bare breasts so close and available and beckoning.  Hawke sucked in a breath and extended his hand.

His fingers brushed her breast.  The shape was perfect.  Hawke’s finger trailed slowly down the smooth curve, teasing over the soft bump of her nipple.  In the damp, sweltering air of the Black Emporium, Andraste’s stone skin seemed almost _warm –_

Hawke muffled a strangled yelp as he came.  A few hot, sticky splatters fell at Andraste’s stone feet, one creamy drop trickling down the stone folds of fabric.  Hawke watched it with a mixture of post-orgasmic bliss and horror, his hand still wrapped around the statue’s breast.

A booming voice like catapult stones grinding down castle walls almost made Hawke shriek.

“DOOOOOOOOOOOO NOT.  FONDLE.  ANDRASSSSSSSTEEEEEEEEEE.”

Hawke’s hand snapped back from the statue and he lurched away.  His breath came in panicked heaves as he laced his pants up.  When he turned around, his face still steaming, Isabela stood behind him.  Grinning.

Hawke swallowed hard.  He lifted one shaking finger and jabbed it against her chest.  “Do.  Not.  Tell.  Anders.”

Isabela’s smile was raw glee.  “I’m telling Anders.”

Hawke struggled to swallow.  “Isabela – ”

“I’m telling Anders _immediately.”_

“Andraste preserve me –”

“Mmm, Hawke, I think she already did!”

“Isabela –!”

She bolted.  Hawke drunkenly chased after her as best he could, trying not to trip on the uneven boards.

“Damn it, Isabela!”

“Oh _Anders,”_ Isabela sighed as she ran.  “Your beloved is just _so_ devoted to our lady Andraste –”

Hawke’s face was red as he barked after her.  “If you tell him, I’m telling Merrill what a ‘darktown catch of the day’ is!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”


End file.
